


A New Game

by tiger_moran



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (Downey films), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Anal Sex, BDSM, Handcuffs, M/M, Rape Role-play, Romance, Rough Sex, Slash, Topping from the Bottom, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-16
Updated: 2012-10-16
Packaged: 2017-11-16 11:18:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/538862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiger_moran/pseuds/tiger_moran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Occasionally Moriarty likes to play a different game with Moran.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A New Game

   Even though it is a pre-arranged signal, Moran is still stunned by the slap. His fury rises immediately; he cannot stop himself from leaping up to confront Moriarty.

   “Don’t you bloody well slap me!” he snarls.

   “If you insist on behaving like a child then I shall treat you like one,” Moriarty says calmly, and Moran lunges at him, his anger very real. It is only the intervention of Smith and Vaughan, two of the lesser lackeys, that prevents him from striking at the professor. The pair of them push him back into his chair where he sits, struggling against them and glowering up at Moriarty.

   “Leave us,” the professor says to the other men gathered in the study. “Go and get on with your work. I think that the colonel and I need to have a private talk.” His voice contains the threat, or the promise, of violence to come.

   The rest of them slink away, none of them wishing to be on the receiving end of Moriarty’s ire, and Moriarty promptly locks the door behind them. He pauses there a moment before turning back to face Moran.

   “You slapped me in front of them,” Moran says, rising from his chair once again, his voice still filled with genuine anger.

   “Indeed.”

   “You don’t do that in front of others, I won’t be humiliated that way!”

   “You will be humiliated in precisely the way I choose,” Moriarty remarks nonchalantly. His words though are delivered with crisp, clear enunciation, an obvious warning. Moran though does not heed it.

   He lunges at Moriarty, gripping him by the front of his waistcoat and slamming him back against the door. “I tolerate much from you,  _sir_ , but I won’t tolerate being embarrassed in front of the others!”

   “Oh I think you will.” Moriarty smirks. “I think that you will tolerate a very great deal from me in order to keep my favour and attentions, Colonel. You are so very needy, after all. Quite unable to function unless you are taking my orders. Unable to break free of your need to submit to me and my every whim; my every command. In short, you are nothing without me, Sebastian.”

   Rage crosses his right hand man’s face then and Moran raises his hand as if to strike Moriarty. The professor though swiftly knocks him backwards, back against the desk, scattering papers and pens as Moran half-sprawls across it. The colonel recovers swiftly though and kicks out sharply with one booted foot before Moriarty can pounce on him and pin him to the desk. He catches the professor squarely in the groin, doubling him over in a soundless gasp of pain.

   “Bastard,” Moran spits at him, as Moriarty falls almost onto all fours. “Not so great now, are you?” He laughs as he leans over the desk, pulling out one of the drawers. He knows what Moriarty keeps in there – has had its contents used on him often enough whilst he’s on this very desk: a set of strong handcuffs, a riding crop and a vial of oil. He ignores the crop; that doesn’t interest him now. He does however take out the vial and the handcuffs and before Moriarty can manage to think through the haze of searing pain Moran has locked those about the professor’s wrists, shackling his hands behind his back. “Look how easily you can be brought to your knees just like any other man,” Moran snarls, as he puts a hand against the back of Moriarty’s neck and shoves his face against the carpet, tipping his backside up into the air. “The great criminal genius, brilliant mastermind, brought so low by one he thinks so  _inferior_  to himself.”

   Moriarty manages to speak at last, though now his voice is strained from having his head held down so. “Get off me, Moran,” he says, conveying a great deal of malevolence even forced down into this most undignified position.

   “No.” Moran crouches low over his back, gripping Moriarty by the hair with one hand, the other sliding down the professor’s body. He uses his legs to spread Moriarty’s legs apart and presses himself tight against Moriarty, to make sure that the man can feel Moran’s arousal pressing against his buttocks, giving him an idea of what is to come.

   “Moran!” Moriarty cries, trying to buck and struggle under him. “Get off!”

   “No.” Moran shifts position slightly, so that his legs are fully pinning Moriarty’s.

   Moriarty trembles under him, but not with fear; with anger. “Stop this, Moran! I’m giving you an order!”

   “And I’m disobeying it,  _sir_.” Moran shoves his hand roughly down inside the professor’s trousers and palms his still smarting prick and balls. “Ah, you like a bit of domination; a bit of pain too, don’t you James?” He grins crookedly when he feels the professor begin to harden under his touch. “Maybe I should thrash your arse black and blue and see how you like that.”

   “You will not.” Moriarty tries to twist his head round to glare at Moran but the gunman swiftly pushes his face down again.

   “No, I won’t, but only since I have other plans for your arse right now.”  He roughly yanks the professor’s trousers undone, dragging them down over his hips, over his stiffening cock, eliciting a gasp from Moriarty in the process, and then tugs down his undergarments too. “Don’t pretend you don’t want this,” he says as Moriarty tries to press his legs closer together to hide his arousal, and he grins maliciously now as he sharply slaps Moriarty’s bare buttocks.

   “Stop this!”

   “No, it is far too appealing seeing you kneeling there like a whore, all ready for me.” Using his bodyweight and legs to keep Moriarty pinned in place despite his struggling, Moran unbuttons his own trousers, freeing his own straining erection. He then reaches up and takes the oil from the desk. He uses it to slick his length, stroking it once, twice, groaning in pleasure and anticipation. “Shhh, James, James, hush,” he soothes when he presses two oiled fingers into Moriarty, causing the professor to buck sharply under him at the suddenness of it; the sharp pain of being breached. He holds the back of Moriarty’s neck again, helping to force him to lie still and to accept the intrusion.

   Moriarty groans into the carpet, becoming louder when Moran twists his fingers sharply.

   “Look at you,” Moran says, “kneeling with your arse in the air, moaning like a wanton slut. You  _want_  this. You  _need_  this.”

   “Don’t you  _dare_  do this to me,” Moriarty snaps. “Moran if you do this I will kill you.”

   “I think you forget something,  _sir_ ,” Moran remarks, withdrawing his fingers and pressing the head of his prick against Moriarty’s entrance. With a rough shove he forces it inside, steady and relentless, and Moriarty practically screams, his cry muffled though by the carpet. Moran presses himself low against Moriarty’s back, his chin resting against Moriarty’s shoulder, mouth close to his ear so that even though his voice is only a rough, low growl, Moriarty can still hear him clearly. “I’m not afraid of you.” He catches Moriarty’s earlobe between his teeth and bites down on it sharply, making the professor’s body jerk again. “I’m no more afraid of you than I am of any other  _whore_.” He pulls his prick part-way out before slamming it back again in a way guaranteed to leave them both sore after.

   “Stop,” Moriarty pleads again, quieter now, his breath coming out in sobbing gasps as Moran fucks him. “Please, Moran, stop.”

   “Why would I stop when you are so clearly relishing this? Look at you, so hard, so  _wet_  for me.” Drawing out and slamming into him again, and again, and again, so hard that Moriarty’s whole body rocks with the violence of the movements. “You love this,” Moran says, reaching around beneath the professor to take him in hand; to roughly stroke and squeeze his prick, aware of the wetness trickling from it already. He bites at Moriarty’s ear again while he thrusts and strokes. His beard rubs against the professor’s neck as he shifts his head down; nips hard at his neck, the way the professor has nipped him too many times to count. He’s planted deep inside Moriarty now, some of the violence of his movements ceasing as he rocks his hips, pleasuring Moriarty internally, knowing how best to make Moriarty come completely undone, despite the man’s protests.

   “No, no, no, no, Moran,  _please_.” Moriarty is practically sobbing into the carpet again as Moran takes him, stimulating him in a way that while it is not new to him is still not that usual. His fingers clench; he tries to grasp onto something, anything, but uselessly so, unable to break free of the restraints and with his cuffed hands pressed tight against his body by the colonel’s weight.

    “Come for me now, there’s a good slut,” Moran says. “Come on, James; come with my cock inside you. Show me how much you love this.” Continuing his simultaneous thrusting and stroking, Moriarty bucking and writhing under him until the professor’s body arches and he throws his head back in a near-soundless, stuttering gasp of breath as he spends, his release splashing onto the carpet under him and partly up his abdomen. “That’s it,” Moran coaxes, still with malevolence in his tone as he continues to roughly tug the professor’s length. “That’s a good whore.” Moriarty tightens around him and it feels so good - so exquisite - to have him this way, in a way that he knows no-one else has ever had the professor, and perhaps never will.

   At last Moriarty goes still under him, all of the tension – all of the fight – going out of him, and Moran has to yank him back up into place to continue fucking him. He’s close to the edge himself but not quite there, not yet. He thrusts again into that tight heat, closer now, so very close, when suddenly Moriarty lifts his face from carpet and says, in a voice slightly shaky but still clear and peremptory:

   “Wait, Moran.”

   And Moran, despite his whole body fairly screaming for release now, goes utterly still; pauses there with his prick planted deep inside the professor. The effort of stopping his movements makes his muscles quiver; makes a bead of sweat trickle down his back, under his shirt.

   “Hold,” Moriarty instructs, glancing back at Moran, who is still coiled tight as a bowstring, ready to go off at any moment but so conditioned into obedience; so relishing his submission to one stronger than himself that he will even try to go against his own body’s most base urges.

   “Sir,” he says, his voice quavering now. “I can’t hold much longer, I’m going to-”

   “I said  _hold_.” Moriarty fixes his gaze on Moran’s. The professor’s gaze is as cold and focused as ever; Moran meanwhile is barely keeping himself together. “Good boy, Sebastian. Very good.”

   Moran keeps his gaze locked to the professor’s, but it’s hard to do so; he’s panting; he’s desperate, and now Moriarty smirks in amusement.

   “All right, Sebastian. You may proceed.”

    Moran says no more aloud but the gratitude is evident in his eyes as he resumes his thrusting. There is such desperation; such a frantic edge to his movements now and it takes only three more bucks of his hips before he goes entirely still, his whole body going rigid momentarily. He comes with a long, low groan, biting down onto Moriarty’s shoulder, teeth digging into waistcoat and shirt, as he climaxes, dimly aware of Moriarty’s faint grunt of displeasure as the colonel spills into him, although by the way Moriarty pushes back against him he hardly seems that bothered by the discomfort.

   Moran continues to thrust shallowly for a while longer, until all of the aftershocks of his orgasm have subsided, and then he collapses onto the professor, knocking them both flat to the carpet.

   They lie there for some moments, saying nothing, with their panting breath the only sounds, until Moran starts to chuckle.

   “God, Professor,” he says, rolling off him at last, drawing his softening prick out of Moriarty, who winces slightly. “Look at us, we must look like a right pair.”

  “Indeed.” Moriarty smiles as he rolls over onto his side, so that he lies face to face with Moran now. “Kiss me, Moran,” he instructs, and Moran obeys, pressing his lips against Moriarty’s in a surprisingly chaste manner.

   Moran reaches up after a few moments and brushes a few sweat-soaked strands of loose hair back off Moriarty’s forehead. “Are you all right, sir?”

   “Perfectly fine, Moran, although…” Moriarty pauses a moment to gather his thoughts. “Your anger initially seemed rather too real, Colonel.”

   “That’s cos you know too well how to provoke me, sir.”

   “Yes, indeed I do.” Moriarty laughs and shuffles closer to Moran, kissing his cheek; kissing under his bearded jaw, down his throat. “I am very pleased with you,” he says softly. “Very pleased indeed. Now though, if you wouldn’t mind…” He jingles the handcuffs behind his back, indicating that he wishes to be freed from them.

   “Maybe I should leave them on you a while longer.” Moran flashes him another sly grin, although he sits up and carefully rolls Moriarty over onto his other side, so that he may remove the cuffs. They have left red marks on the professor’s wrists and so Moran carefully strokes at the marks, rubbing out any pain and stiffness.

   “Don’t get used to this, Sebastian,” Moriarty says, catching Moran’s gaze again as they sit there face to face. “I do not intend for this particular game to happen too often.”

   “No sir, of course not sir.” Still lightly holding Moriarty’s wrists, Moran leans in and places another kiss on the corner of the professor’s mouth.

   Smiling, Moriarty turns his face away. “Help me up now, there’s a good fellow. I must go and bathe.”

  Moran gets quickly to his feet before offering his arm to Moriarty, helping the professor to stand. Moriarty is obviously uncomfortable in this new position and when he walks he definitely hobbles slightly.

   “You are sure you’re all right sir?” Moran says, moving alongside him.

   Moriarty brushes him away now. “I’m perfectly all right.” He shuffles away, off towards the far door leading out of the room, before pausing to glance back at Moran. “And Sebastian?”

   “Yes sir?” Moran looks at him almost hopefully, and Moriarty very nearly considers offering some other words of affection for his right hand man; his  _lover_.

   “Be a good boy and clean up the mess,” he says instead.

    Moran laughs at this, but it’s enough; it’s right and fitting from a man like Moriarty, when effusive praise or expressions of regard would be very strange indeed. “Yes sir,” he says.


End file.
